Violent Pose
by liznon
Summary: "It's never too late to be what you might have been." -George Eliot (High School AU) (Erik/Christine)
1. Chapter 1

_"Erik Derveaux, please report to the main office— Erik Derveaux."_

At a school as small as St. Cecilia's High School, only a select few ever spoke on the intercom in the main office. There were two secretaries— Mrs. Webster and Mrs. Golden (you could tell which one gave every student who ever step foot in the office some form of a lollipop or hard candy just by her last name)— one of the two guidance counselors (and their office's secretary), the president of the school, and the principal. Of all these few people, there was one male. It was easy to distinguish who was who based on their voice and overall demeanor, but everyone knew when it was the principal on the intercom. And everyone knew that he only used the intercom when it was a not-so-good, semi-urgent situation. Using it only for those occasions, which weren't extremely often (the teachers usually did all of the work to send students to the office), meant that he didn't know how to use it very well. His lips were practically pressed against the bottom half of the phone— or so it sounded— and he talked way louder and faster than necessary. Everyone's ears were inevitably ringing as soon as the noise vaguely similar to the smoke-and-seatbelt-signs-are-off-slash-on sound pinged throughout every classroom in the ancient, skinny building.

As quick as the announcement beckoning Erik Derveaux to the main office had been in itself, all eyes soon shifted to face the teenaged boy, clad in a hoodie despite the very strict uniform code (and apparently the most important one to the principal), and seated closer to the front of the room than he actually wanted to be. Yeah, their assigned desks were arranged by order of last name, and _yeah,_ he got to stare at the new girl's surprisingly mesmerizing dark curls because of it, but he'd much prefer being in the back of the room than the second desk of the first row, by the windows. And he was just shocked by how curly the girl's hair seemed to be. It was more often a mess than not. It seemed like it was once a week that she came in with tamed hair. Maybe she planned it that way. To look semi-decent at least once a week. It's only been a few weeks into the school year, though, so what would Erik know?

Sliding off the hoodie—quickly, because he knew everyone was looking at him and he needed to end that as fast as possible—and tossing it over the back of the desk's chair, Erik made his way in only a couple strides (his legs were probably the length of your average telephone pole, and the width of celery on a good day.) to the door and shut it faster than he even opened it. He closed it so carefully that it didn't make even the softest clicking sound as it shut. Christine, whose eyes lingered on him longer than the rest of the kids, noticed that— but we're not talking about her right now. Pretend you didn't hear that. Er- _read_ that.

Erik's first period class—religion (this year titled something like 'Living Close to Jesus,' but that's just the cover-up for writing college essays and applications)—is on the fourth floor-The highest floor in the brick oven of a building. Walking from the first floor to the fourth floor in a span of three minutes is equivalent to running a marathon in two hours— impossible to the average, out of shape teenager, which filled the school to the brim save the few football players and basketball players that actually tried.

Erik wonders if it takes him more than three minutes to walk down the four flights of stairs. He takes his time walking down each step, the bottoms of his vans slapping against whatever thousand-year-old material the stairs are made up of and echoing throughout the empty stairwell. There's a window on each landing, and he stops to look out of each of them for a couple seconds before proceeding. Finally, he reaches the set of doors labeled '1st Floor.' He turns the handle, pulling it open and catching the front of it as it squeaks behind him.

Walking through the open lobby, Erik peaks into the library, seeing almost an entire study hall fill the tables. No doubt it's one of the lesser-liked teacher's study halls. Almost everyone gets one huge pass to the library because they can't stand to sit in silence and actually get homework done. It makes Erik roll his eyes. Students value socializing (and far more) over doing well in school. It's dumb to Erik. Of course, he wouldn't use that term. He's far too intelligent.

He opens the door to the office, replying to Mrs. Golden's sunny greeting with a faint 'Hi,' and a very forced, practically invisible smile.

"You can head straight into Mr. Curtis' office." She informs him. Erik nods, walking to the back of the fairly large office. There's the front desk, a plethora of cubicles, and the principal and president offices in the very back, and above them is a conference room. It's probably the nicest, newest area in the whole school. The library is pretty good too, but this—most likely because students aren't (and don't wanna be) swarming around in here— is actually well maintained. No shade to the librarian, though-she's one person against three hundred kids.

"Mr. Derveaux, come on in and have a seat." Mr. Curtis calls before Erik has even reached the door. There's something very distinct about hearing him yell from his office. Just like how he speaks on the intercom.

Erik sits down on the uncomfortable, over-sat in, leather, maroon sofa. He places his palms over his khaki-d knees, his leg already beginning to shake.

"How's your year going so far?"

Oh no. This is not just a check in with the sad kid. Erik notices it right away. He's going to lay some shit on him and he's stalling. Whether that's a ' _you're in trouble_ ' shit or a ' _your neighbor's uncle's cat died'_ shit, he isn't so sure. Not yet anyway.

"It's just like the other three." He replies. It's not entirely true. It wouldn't be true for anyone. But especially not Erik. Erik was simply just sad kid Erik freshmen year, and everyone was both terrified of him and amused by his face. They used both of those aspects to project all their inner issues onto him. Otherwise known as the weak word 'bullying.' Erik was used to it, of course. He had expected it. But as the years went on, his own class got used to him. And the new classes that came in would eventually, too. And now, freshmen wouldn't dare say anything about a senior.

"Good," Says Mr. Curtis. Not good. Everyone knows that saying every year was like the other means that Erik is already having a shitty year— but this was just his attempt at stalling, and now that he's finished, he's over that part of the conversation. "As you know, here at Saint Cecilia's, we require a certain number of service hours to graduate. We've given you a lot of leeway the past few years regarding your condition—" The condition he's speaking of doesn't apply to the misshapen, discolored, disgusting state of the right side of his face. It's another condition. The mental one. The one where he needs to take a thousand different meds every day or else he'll lose control of himself and get really angry and then really sad once the meds are restarted. "But you need at least a few hours to graduate. Or else, I'll have to either hold you back or expel you." Those are two very different options. Both look bad to colleges, but Erik has been unnecessarily uncaring of his life in the future. He has an idea. He'll figure it out eventually.

"I don't even know how to get hours."

"Non-profit organizations. All you need to do is go down to guidance and ask what there is to help with."

"Can't I get the hours from helping with the play? That's most of my time."

"It's an extracurricular. I'll tell you what— you find something— tutoring, helping a teacher clean their classroom every day, even carrying a kid's books— do fifteen hours worth of it, and I'll count that as community service."

"If you can do that, can't you count the—"

"Come back to me by the end of the week with what you've figured out. Good luck with auditions this afternoon."

Erik stifles a scoff, mumbling some form of thanks and leaving the office as quickly as possible. They could've just forced him to do hours every other year if it meant he had to do a shit ton now. Okay, it's not actually that many, that's just one year's worth. However, he has to do them anyway, after it was specifically requested that he be exempt. Stupid.

The bell rings just as he's passed the second floor on the stairwell. He groans, knowing that by the time he gets back to the classroom, the next class will be in there, and everyone will be staring at him as he tries to get his backpack and hoodie. It's his only class without Nadir. The only one. If he was in that class, he would've gotten his stuff for him and carried it to the next one and Erik wouldn't feel totally nauseous right now. He still would've felt nauseous over the community service thing, but now he's even more nauseous.

He reaches the fourth floor, heading towards the classroom he was in when there's a tap on his shoulder. He spins around a little too quickly, probably revealing how evidently flustered he is. The girl with the dark curls that sits in front of him is standing there, in her hands his black hoodie and backpack. Erik takes note that she's holding them as if they aren't infected by some sort of ugly contagion.

"Hi, sorry. I figured I'd grab these for you. I would hate to have to go back in there when another class is there -I worded that weirdly- but, uh, yeah, anyway, here you go." She holds out the items, her arms, skeletal and lanky, peak out beneath her itchy maroon sweater.

"Oh, um, thanks." He says, taking his belongings and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "I definitely would've hated going back in there." And she smiles. A real, actual, nice person type of smile. Not the fake kind. Or the uncomfortable, _what-the-hell-happened-to-your-face_ kind. And Erik finds himself blurting out, "Are you auditioning for the musical?"

Her cheeks redden immediately. Well, not redden. They turn a rosy pink, practically making her freckles disappear. "Yeah, I am. How'd you know?"

Cover blown. She'll know he was watching her a little too closely. He didn't mean it. She's right there in front of him, how could he not notice? "Oh, I saw you doodling mermaids in the margin of your notebook."

Her face actually goes red this time. She clearly has social anxiety. Who wouldn't if they moved to an entirely new state for their last year of high school? That's such a terrifying cliché. And a small school at that. "Yeah, Little Mermaid is my favorite princess and Sierra Boggess is like- literally the love of my life- _not that I'm gay or anything I just mean that I admire her a lot and she's literally the most gorgeous, talented person on the planet and_ -" The girl sufficiently made a complete fool of herself. Erik chuckles a legitimate chuckle. No one actually makes him laugh except Nadir or himself. But he can't help but think that this girl is literally the most adorable thing in the universe. But maybe he's just inspired by her Sierra Boggess Hyperbole.

"The bell is going to ring in a few seconds. You can continue your profession of love for Sierra at auditions later, if you'd like. I'll see you there." And the nausea is gone. Just like that. And from speaking to a girl nonetheless. And walking to his next class, Erik has the faintest of faint smiles on his lips.

—

Christine Daaé had been feeling down in the freaking dumps. She had all the reason to be so, but she'd never show it in front of anyone. Her father passed away in June, so she was shipped to Connecticut to live with her aunt and join an entirely new school for her senior year. Christine didn't know that even happened in real life. Or at least, that she'd be the cliché herself.

Thankfully, she knew a couple people already. As a kid, when her father was on tour, Christine stayed with her aunt, who lived next to the Giry's. Ann and her daughter, Meg (who was the same age as Christine), spent a lot of time over Aunt Addy Daaé's, so Christine quickly became friends with the girl. She got close with her over the summer, too. As close as she could get. Christine wasn't the type to have really close friends. She didn't talk much. She was pretty shy from the time her mother passed away.

Christine was adjusting to her fairly new life. Attending a small catholic school wasn't that big a deal. It's typical, really. The only thing the school really values is the sports, and they suck at everything except basketball. But when Christine found out that there were auditions for the musical soon— and that the theatre program was actually halfway decent (not phenomenal, but decent)— she knew she had to audition. She hadn't sung in front of anyone for quite a few months. In fact, the last person she sang in front of was her father. It's a sad, 'sappy' thing that'll just be pathos for whatever argument this author is apparently selling, but it's something that decidedly happened. Anyway. Her auditioning became definite when she found out that they were doing _The Little Mermaid_.

If only she could go back _home_ home and show the world her concerning collection of Ariel-related paraphernalia. And she practically worshiped Sierra Boggess. Oh god- we'll get to that embarrassment in the following moments.

Christine had noticed the kid who sits behind her in most of her classes. Everyone noticed him. Although, it was obvious _he_ didn't want to be noticed. The first time she'd seem him was the first day of school. She had been struggling to open her locker and his was next to hers. He was not helping the poor girl at all. She was one hundred and ten percent sure that he was lingering a few moments just to bask in the amusement he found in her struggle.

Eventually, she gave up and just carried all her books to her classes for the first day, but when she went back at the end of the day to try opening it again, it had already been opened. The bottom half was closed and the top half was slightly sticking out and all you had to do was shake it to open it. It had to be the kid. It couldn't've possibly been anyone else.

Of course, the first thing she actually noticed about him was his face. Well, you could also count his sheer human presence, but you know. His face was messed up. Not that badly, though. But enough to get a lot of shit for it. Seeing it just broke Christine's far too empathetic heart. Not because it was ugly, just because it was one more difference for a kid to get bullied over. It was only slightly unnerving. It was easy to get past though. Christine couldn't describe what it appeared as if she tried. It was only the right side of his face. The rest was pretty normal actually. Aside from the fact that he was way more pale than the average Irishman (but then again Christine had been looking pretty sickly lately, too). But the right side of his face kinda looked like someone pinched his cheek and twisted it around as if it were clay, and then splashed some faint red paint with a little yellow here and there. Definitely weird at first, but definitely easy to get used to.

However, Christine was an abnormally open-minded person. She was 'inclined to reserve all judgement,' but not because her father told her to when she was young, and she didn't plan to become the most judgmental person in all of New York. Okay, enough Gatsby for today— moving on! Christine was too easy to let people off the hook. She recognized the bad in the world, but also knew her place. She knew what she was capable of doing and changing, and she knew that at seventeen years old, making a difference in the world started small. Perhaps it was because she was used to being the person who was judged, but Christine could never bring herself to look upon a person in disgust or even annoyance.

Okay, that's not completely true. There's this girl in her Calc class. Very much of an Italian heritage. And it's not like Christine immediately decided she was annoying. She waited for her to prove it— and prove she diddly darn did. It wasn't even the second day of school and she was already making unnecessary complaints regarding actually having to do work. How she managed to get into the honors class, no one will ever know (everyone actually knows), but Christine wishes every day that she tested into AP. She was fairly certain the boy with the face was in AP. He had to be. It didn't take long for her to realize that he was definitely a super genius.

And back to her being way too empathetic. She felt like someone had ripped her lungs out when the bell had rung first period and he hadn't returned. She stared at his hoodie and backpack for fifteen agonizing seconds before grabbing them. How she would proceed to get them to him, she wasn't so sure. But as fate would have it, he was walking with his back to her. She knew his name. Of course she did. He sat behind her in four out of her seven classes (six of which they had together). But she definitely didn't want to yell out to him in the crowded hallway. So she ran up to him and poked her finger to his bony shoulder with a little too much momentum. Her strangely flexible finger bent the way it's not supposed to but did all the time, and she pulled her hand back to her side as soon as he twirled around to face her with very distinct, golden eyes.

And the Sierra Boggess thing? Could you be anymore embarrassing than accidentally sounding way homophobic after accidentally saying that you were in love with a woman. Christine should've stopped herself at 'life.' She'd appear far less homophobic and far more fangirl-y if she stopped there. She'd much rather be _possibly-gay_ _f_ _angirl_ than _homophobe._ But he cut her off before she could even fully explain herself. And she was a little shocked when he said he'd see her at auditions. If she never spoke to him, she'd assume he was just crew or something. But hearing his voice was literally the equivalent of melting chocolate chips over the oven to dip your pretzels in. Fuh-reaking _heavenly._

But she wasn't going to worry about seeing anyone at the auditions. Only she, herself, and her. Or else she'd probably projectile vomit absolutely everywhere. Because this role means a little too much for her not to audition for. She needed it. And maybe it'd actually be strong enough to suck her out of rock bottom, which she most definitely hit. Quite hard, at that.


	2. Chapter 2

"I need you to _elaborate."_

Erik rolls his eyes for the third time this lunch mod... The bell rang two minutes ago. Erik has had one friend his entire life— Nadir Khan. He acts as both his buddy and his babysitter. I could say he was self-appointed, but Erik's mother has on multiple occasions reminded Nadir that he is in charge of Erik when she and Erik's father aren't around. He's in charge of making sure Erik at _least_ drinks water at school and takes his assigned medication. Nadir usually forces him to take a few bites of some form of food, though. Lil baby can't have his meds on an empty stomach!

"What is there to elaborate on?" Erik asks (rhetorically), weakly hitting the vending machine a couple times in an attempt to make his Cheez-Its fall faster. "I wasn't even gonna bring it up until you got all weird and started over analyzing me."

Nadir pops up more dramatically than needed after pulling his drink out of the neighboring machine. "Dude, your lips kept randomly twitching for three classes in a row. That never happens. You never smile to yourself— or anyone, for that matter."

"Lips twitching most definitely does not count as smiling." Erik argues, moving towards their usual table. There's four lunch mods, and this one is particularly packed, but Nadir and Erik usually end up getting their own table (or at least half of a table).

"Yeah, sure." Nadir replies sarcastically. "I haven't said a word to her and _I_ smile at the thought of her." Okay, that's not at all creepy.

"She handed me my sweatshirt and backpack. Why is it suddenly the end of the world?" Oh, but that's the thing. It totally _is_ the end of the world for Erik. He has not stopped thinking about her all day and he literally has no clue why. (Lie.) He gets this weird, bubbly feeling of excitement in the pit of his stomach every time he thinks about how the freckles on her face are splayed out and how she scrunches her nose every now and then out of habit. At thoughts like this, Erik doesn't even mentally slap himself. No, instead he mentally beats the living shit out of himself.

"Because it was an adorable, sweet female who didn't vomit at your presence." (Truth.)

"I believe that's called being a halfway decent human being." Erik replies, rolling his eyes— but again, it's totally true. Completely correct. Highly accurate. But of course it is, it's _Nadir._ Nadir knows all when it comes to Erik (but for some reason he has never memorized Avogadro's Number, which made for a tough few chapters of sophomore year Chemistry). "She's auditioning."

Erik, for a moment, is positive that Nadir is going to fall off the bench. He essentially drowns in his soda before choking out a strained "Are you _shitting_ me?" And laughing hysterically. And supposedly Erik is the mentally unstable one.

"Why is that so shocking?" Erik knows the answer. But you've already guessed that, haven't you?

"That's literally amazing for us. Oh my god, _please_ tell me she's auditioning for Ariel."

"She started ranting about how she'd love to wed Sierra Boggess, so yeah, I'd assume so." Erik suppresses a smile at that. She was such an awkward little bean. Oh my god— Erik did _not_ just think of her as a _bean._ Ew, what the heck?

"God bless the U.S.A." Nadir rejoices, dramatically shaking his fists in the air before suddenly staring off somewhere behind Erik. "She's friends with Meg?"

Erik already knows the answer. He tends to be a little too observant. (Could've guessed that too, right?) He turns anyway to see Christine and Meg Giry engaged in what appears to be the Meg Version of very serious conversation. Turning back, Erik answers, "Yeah. I think they knew each other before school started."

"Yeah, seems like it." Nadir replies, still watching them before narrowing his eyes incredulously. "Aw man, tough luck. Shaggy Knees just walked past her, smirked at her, and she blushed."

"She blushes at literally everything." Erik says a little too quickly, so he adds, "And why would it be tough luck for me?"

"She's probably already in immense love with Rod Wool. You missed your chance."

Oh god. Change subject. Change subject. "No matter how much you change his name, people can still figure out who you're talking about."

"It's more to make fun of his bitch ass instead of trying to hide the fact that we're indeed insulting the one and only Dreamy-McDreamboat-Eat-My-Ass De Chagny." News flash: Erik and Nadir hate Raoul De Chagny's guts. He seems like a really good guy— Wealthy, Mama's Boy, Athletic— the whole package, really. But all it took was one idiotic-preteen-type of prank that ruined the middle school production of _The Wizard of Oz_ to create a lasting, mostly single-sided feud between the him and the two boys.

"That was a bit strong but I admire it."

"Glad you appreciate it." Nadir replies, and then his entire head kind of twitches and his eyes light up. "They're coming over to this table." He says quickly and quietly.

"Eat your food." Erik says, staring at his own Cheez Its.

Nadir frowns. "Hey, wait, that's my job. Don't take my job. Have you taken your meds yet?"

Rolling his eyes, Erik pulls a Ziploc baggy out of his backpack. But then he stops. Because he doesn't want to risk Christine seeing him take those pills. But he could just say they're vitamins. She probably won't even notice. It's not like they're even going to pay attention to the fact that he and Nadir are on the other side of the—

"Hey, Meg, is your mom gonna be at auditions?" — Table. Dammit, Nadir.

Meg's eyes immediately roll. "If it's going to fuel your creepy obsession, then _no."_

"Excuse me, your mother is the most adorable wine mom around and I think you should appreciate my _admiration_ for her." He argues. "And I just wanted to let her know that I found a few freshmen who can tap. If I'm going to be Scuttle, my number has got to be good."

"I hope they put you in ensemble." Erik says.

"I hope that cracker gets lodged in your throat. Then you can be that weird sound in 'Kiss the Girl.'"

"That weird sound? You mean Scuttle's _singing?"_ Erik laughs in disbelief but in a good way if you know what I mean, you know? I know you know. Sorry, anyway- Uh.

"That's been Scuttle this whole time?"

"Of course it's Scuttle! What other creature would purposefully make that noise?"

"You guys are really having an argument over this?" Meg asks.

"You call this an argument? We're just getting started." Nadir assures Meg, laughing.

"'Just getting started,' yeah _right._ I have to stop arguments half way through because you're such a baby about them." Erik challenges, to which Nadir refutes by saying,

"What are you talking about? _You're_ the one who refused to speak to me for an _entire day_ just because I pronounced reprise, _ree-prize."_

The left side of Erik's face goes rosy, but he continues regardless. "'Pronounced' should be present tense. I've never heard you say it correctly in any other circumstance besides to please me."

"I think you guys _broke_ Christine." Meg laughs, pointing to the hysterical brunette across from her. She's laughing to the point of tears, and it makes Erik's heart rate pick up and skip a couple beats. It's such an obnoxious laugh— She's substituting a strange, squeaking intake of air for snorting— but _god,_ why was it so melodious to the very-musically-anal-Erik? Her face is beet red from both lack of oxygen and sheer embarrassment (from her very loud, very _concerning_ laugh).

"Way to freaking go, Erik. And here we could've had the perfect lead for our musical." Nadir complains, flailing his arms in the air.

"Why does it have to be my fault? If anything—"

" _Do not_ say I started it, it was _you_ who wished for me to land an ensemble role instead of principal."

"It was _your_ choice to reply to that."

"D-does anyone have a t-tissue?" The boys' heads snap to the girl, wheezing in between her words and wiping actual tears from her face. It really wasn't that funny of an argument, which makes Erik's heart accelerate consistently in curiosity. Either no one's said anything funny to this girl in a long time, or she's insane. Or she has no sense of humor— but in that case she wouldn't have laughed at all.

But that doesn't matter, what matters right now is a _tissue_ which Erik most definitely has. He'd never blow his nose in school— He'd never let himself get a cold in the first place— yet he carries around one of those mini little packs of tissues just because. It's barely seconds before he's handed her the pack of tissues. It wasn't until then that he realized how he did not have to reach far, and that Christine and Meg had slid down the table to be about a foot away from each of the boys.

Christine smiles in thanks, wiping her eyes and attempting to blow her nose as subtle as possible before shoving the cloth into her skirt pocket and pulling out hand sanitizer from her backpack. Erik admires her courtesy. He's not a total germaphobe, but it's things like that which he deems admirable.

The bell rings, and they all tell each other that they'd see each other at auditions later, and part ways. And Erik's not thinking about anything but Christine's itty bitty smile. But he banishes the thoughts as best he can. It would be helpful, though, if he could substitute those thoughts with the reminder to take his medication.

* * *

Erik didn't realize until seventh period that he hadn't taken his medication. He definitely wouldn't have noticed either if he had not gotten used to _not_ being a totally anxious, irritable, angry (the list goes on) mess. He had to wait until the bell rang to stalk to the bathroom and down the oversized pills because he knew his teacher would make him get a pass signed by Mr. Curtis himself and Erik _did not have the time (or patience) to deal with that._ Once he had done that, he headed for the auditorium. He probably should have gone to his locker but some part of him suddenly wanted to avoid Christine at all costs. Now, as he pushes through the obnoxiously heavy doors of the abnormally small auditorium, he does the exact opposite of what he was trying to do by skipping a locker visit. There Christine is, sitting in a seat in the front row, chewing on her sweater and staring off into space while Meg and Nadir argue as they attempt to have a conversation with Mrs. Giry, who in fact, did show up. Erik idiotically places his backpack on the ground beside the seat next to her, lowering himself to sit in the appallingly uncomfortable chairs.

"Everything all right?" He asks, praying that she is and she's just tired or something. He's not the best at helping people.

"Huh?" She asks, jumping a bit and snapping out of whatever anxious reverie she'd been consumed by. "Oh! Yeah, yeah, I'm good-yeah-just, well I- um- I haven't… really… sung, in quite some time." She laughs a breathy, awkward laugh before drumming her fingers across her bare knees. "But yeah, I'm fine."

"How come you haven't sung?" Erik! You idiot! Why would you ask that? She definitely doesn't want to talk about it. Why else would she say it so reluctantly and awkwardly?

"Oh, you know, with moving and everything, I just haven't… gotten around to it."

Erik nods, opening his mouth to speak but not knowing what to say. Thankfully, (not that thankful, though) a loud, obnoxious, blaring, hideous, annoying, deafening (dare I go on?) voice fills the entire auditorium. Everyone-even Christine-immediately groans. Remember the girl that annoys Christine in Calc class? Yeah, that's her-Carlotta Giudicelli. Her parents could have chosen any name- Charlotte, Carol, etc.-but _no._ They named her _Carlotta._ The name in itself is obnoxious, and good _lord_ the person the name belonged to was even worse. Her parents had money- everyone knew that. She had little to no talent but a _true passion to be onstage._ Gag. Her parents bribed the hell out of Mr. Curtis. They tried to bribe Mr. Lefevre, but they failed. Lefevre was a little too _woke_ to accept such a thing. And they also could not pronounce his name to save their lives. However, bribing Mr. Curtis meant bribing the guy in charge of literally _everything,_ so Mr. L had no choice but to cast her as the lead. But Christine was promising. She could totally play Ariel, and if her voice was really good, the entire drama program would be _saved._

"Is Mr. L here yet? I'm going first!" She exclaims, making some grand entrance that nobody pays any attention to.

"Bad news." Nadir says in a hushed voice to Erik. "We have new directors."

"Director _ **s**_?"

"Mr. L? Retired. There's two new guys and they don't seem promising according to Ann."

Not good. Definitely not good. "Well, who are they?"

"No clue. Ann said they should be able to introduce themselves. Her mom-ness popped out."

"They aren't even here yet, how are we going to find out?"

"Patience, maybe?" Christine butts in.

"Darling _, no one_ has that here." Nadir tells her, patting her head like the weirdo he is.

"Can't Ann just cast us?" She asks, and Erik notices how wide her eyes are right now. Only the stage lights are on right now, so there's this shiny sparkle in the blue of her eyes that makes Erik's lip twitch upward.

"No, she's a choreographer. She doesn't know sh- _squat_ about acting or singing." Nadir narrows his eyes at Mrs. Giry, who's still speaking with her daughter. She scolds him a lot for his swearing.

"This was going to be our best production yet and Mr. L has to go and selfishly retire." Erik complains, crossing his arms and pouting.

"Buddy, he's sixty five and has frequent mild bouts of pneumonia."

"And _I_ have crippling depression, but _I'm_ still dedicated."

"-So sorry we're late!" Exclaims an adult male voice from the front of the auditorium. "The traffic in this city- _horrendous!"_

Erik already has the urge to slam his head against the wooden stage five thousand two hundred and twenty times plus once more for good luck. Should I bother mentioning that they're dressed like they're ready to walk a red carpet? Erik admires formal dress, but this is just _flashy_ and the only thing that could redeem these men is if they are a couple.

"We're your new directors. I'm Mr. Andre. I'm _very_ pleased to be here with you all." Says the other man, who has skipped to the stage area and begun to address everyone in the room.

"I'm Mr. Firmin. We're very gracious to be taking over for Mr. Lef- Lefevre." Yup, it's official, Erik can't stand them. He's never really been one to give people a chance. However, his first impression of someone is usually the correct one. He is seconds away from a Big Kid Breakdownᵀᴹ because he does _not_ want the musical ruined by these guys.

"Shall we begin auditions? Who would like to go first?" Mr. Andre asks. Oh, god, it's already disorganized.

* * *

To spare you the horrendous details, let's skip around and say that auditions were a complete mess. Erik sang flawlessly, as usual, and it shocked Christine a little (he just didn't seem the type to her). Christine's singing, though shaky, was _divine._ Erik was positive he had never heard anything more beautiful. Carlotta was revolting. Nadir was the usual, and so was Meg. And then there's the unending list of kids Erik has never bothered speaking to. He knows their names, but wouldn't dare to interact with them.

But as disorganized as the auditions were, Erik's hopes weren't actually completely shattered until he read the cast list.

 _SCHS The Little Mermaid_

 _Ariel…...Carlotta Giudicelli (U/S Christine Daaé)_

 _Eric…...Erik Derveaux_

 _Scuttle…...Nadir Khan_

 _Aquata…...Christine Daaé_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Very much not proofread.

* * *

 _"I. Am. Pissed."_

"I'm sure you are, Erik, but what else did you expect from her-"

"I can't believe they cast me as _Prince Eric!_ Is it the name? I'm honestly vomiting- They could have cast me as _anyone_ and they cast me as _him."_

"Wow, okay, maybe because you're a senior and you're talented as hell."

Currently, Erik and Nadir are standing in front of the cast list that's taped to the auditorium door. It's now Friday. The amount of time it took them to decide is in itself appalling. Erik's just about ready to burst, and Nadir is just annoyed. Of course, Nadir is only upset over Christine's casting, not both his own and hers. Erik is _fuming_ because not only was he cast in a role _so very not him,_ but he also had to play the love-interest of a she-devil, goat-sounding, overly-made-up, _witch_ face. This year is already an absolute disaster.

"We can't let Christine see this." Erik says suddenly, moving on from wallowing in self-pity (which _is_ so very like him).

"She might be okay with this, you never know. I mean, she _is_ a transfer student. She can't just waltz in here and take the lead role." Nadir suggests, tightening and loosening the straps of his backpack. As chill as Nadir likes to be, he isn't entirely sure how Erik is really going to react to this. And he also doesn't recall seeing him take his meds at lunch the other day. Oh, god, Mrs. D is going to _kill him_ if Erik has an episode.

"No, you didn't see her face when she told me how much she loves this show. And she was so nervous before her audition. This is going to _break_ her." Erik runs a hand over his hair, resisting the urge to grab fistfuls and scream at the top of his lungs.

"Well, what are we going to do? Stand in front of the paper all day?" Nadir asks, giving Erik a 'you're really going to go there and make everything worse, huh' look.

"Crap, there she is!" Erik exclaims (in a whisper), pulling Nadir by the arm and hastily... doing exactly what Nadir just... said, standing in front of the cast list to block it.

"Hey, guys." Christine greets, but her warm smile drops almost immediately. "I didn't get it." She blurts out. Nadir glares at Erik, but he glares right back. They step to the side so she can read and, and she grins just a tiny little bit. "But I'm the understudy! There's hope! And I like Aquata." Not a complete lie! But currently Christine is on the verge of a mental breakdown! She tried not to get her hopes up— really, she did. But Erik, Meg, and Nadir praised the crap out of her. Her head just shrank back down three sizes.

"Who the _fuck_ likes Aquata?" Erik lets slip, stepping towards Christine and grabbing her by the shoulders (albeit very gently) without thinking. "We. Are. Going. To. Fix. This."

"I. Don't. Need. You. To." Christine mocks, grabbing Erik's shoulders back. "It's only fair, I'm a tra—"

"We get it!" Erik exclaims. Whirling around dramatically. "You're a _transfer_ student! But Carlotta Giudi-Freaking-Celli sucks _ass,_ and if we want to have one, _single_ successful production for our senior year, she can _not_ play that stupid mermaid!"

Christine's eyes are wide, but she's pretty amused. Part of her is slightly concerned (she's only spoken to him for a few days) because in that time he hasn't appeared to be completely on the mentally stable side. But Nadir just looks embarrassed of him, and she's ten thousand percent sure he would try and stop Erik if he felt the need.

However, when something(one) catches Erik's eye through the windows of the office's door, Nadir starts hopelessly pleading for him to _just go to the cafe and chill the hell out._ Both Nadir and Christine are tugging on Erik's bony arms in the single stride he has to take to reach the door.

"Mr. Firmin!" Erik calls as he (a bit too aggressively) swings the door open. The man spins around from facing the front desk (manned today by Mrs. Webster ((strike one))), giving a forced, friendly smile to the not-completely-overjoyed teenagers. "I have a few comments regarding the cast list." He manages to shake off the nagging girl and boy, taking a furious stance.

"Comment away, Kid." The man replies, eyes narrowed at the curious scene. All three have become rather disheveled from the struggle of entering the main office, not to mention Christine is beet red and Nadir is excruciatingly disappointed.

"The girl you cast as the title role? That can't happen. I don't care how much money her damn parents offer you, there's no denying she has less talent than a grain of freaking sand. Her understudy, however, is the perfect match. She could use a little work, but she's so promising and considering you dimwits cast me by my namesake as the love interest, I should have a say in who I am comfortable with. And as president of the drama club, it is my duty to make our last productions our best."

"What fascinating credentials you have, son." The man replies, his address causing Erik to noticeably flinch. "It is clear you are quite passionate about this..." He says, eyes wandering to look Christine up and down with a raised eyebrow. Erik's blood boils at the assumption that Christine's _prettiness_ would be the reason he'd rather her play Ariel. "How about this—" He bargains, and all three teens are getting way creepy vibes. "We have Miss Giudicelli as Ariel until we've run through the whole show once. Then, we'll run through it again with Miss Daaé and have a vote among the cast and crew. Whoever gets the most will be Ariel for opening night, and perhaps all performances."

It's not that satisfying a deal, but ten million lightbulbs seem to go off above Erik all at once. Erik will help Christine improve her singing and acting and have her perfectly prepared for that run-through that everyone will vote for her _and_ he can get those stupid service hours. "Fine." Erik says, stepping aside to address Mrs. Webster. "Completely unrelated," completely related. "but when is Mr. Curtis available?"

"Come back during homeroom." She says sourly, not even looking up from her computer.

"Cool." Erik replies, calmly twisting to face Nadir and Christine and walking out the door before them, appearing to feel more accomplished than he actually feels. They follow behind quickly, and once they're deep into the hallway, Erik begins to speak. "Can you come home with us after school today?" He asks Christine, beginning to walk backwards.

"Uh- Well, Raoul asked me to go to the football game tonight, so—"

"Perfect. We'll just go with you. He's on the team anyway, and you do _not_ want to be alone at those things." Erik replies far too quickly. Erik despises football with the most fiery of burning passions. Little does he know, Christine does, too. In all honesty, she only agreed so that Raoul didn't make her feel guilty. She didn't have many friends, and she couldn't risk losing one of them.

"Okay." Christine agrees a little hesitantly, pulling out her cell phone to tell her aunt. She looks up for a moment, her lips stalling for a second before she speaks. "Just... We need to dedicate at least an hour to homework. I don't like complete suffering over the weekend."

"Your wish is my command." Erik replies, actually smiling like a little forest nymph ready to hop around in far too extreme joy. Seriously, he needs to calm down. He is _way_ too excited to have Christine over his house. But then he's suddenly filled with a tremendous amount of dread. He can't have Christine over. And his mother is going to make such a big deal about it. Simply because she's _female._ Whatever. It's whatever. They have a mission and it must be completed.

* * *

Erik, Nadir, and Christine all sat on the ground by the window as the announcements for the end of the day blared through the three floors of classrooms. Their last period that day was _Spanish V,_ and not only were there only six people in the class, but the teacher could also care less what they did or where they sat. Because it was last period on a Friday, she didn't actually do any teaching, and everyone sat around talking through the whole period. The three spent the period deciding what they were going to work on when they got to Erik's house. Christine wrote out an actual schedule, which Erik admired. First was snacks, then homework, then start with Christine's biggest solo and a few duets, and finally, go to the game, drive Christine home, drop Erik off, and Nadir was done being chauffeur.

The bell finally screamed about the whole school, and the three teens practically sprinted to the mall parking lot. (No student parking at St. Cecilia's). Erik let Christine sit shotgun, saying that she had to experience first hand the professional driving of Nadir Khan. She squealed when she turned on the radio to find that he had XM.

"Two month free trial that glitched and turned into two years." He replied.

"This means you have the Broadway station!" She squeaks, turning the dial of the stereo rapidly. "I hope you don't mind, I just really liked this channel when my dad had it in a rental car."

"You're fine. Erik would've made me change it to that anyway. It's either that, or crappy alternative when he's in a bad mood."

"You seemed like a more _70's on 7_ kind of guy." She points out, craning her neck around the seat to face Erik, who's sat on the middle seat with no seat belt.

"I'm not saying I'm offended, but-" Erik's witty comment is cut short when Christine blurts out,

"Could you p-please put your seat belt on." And Erik almost protests until he sees her trembling hands. Upon seeing them, he quickly grabs the belt, locking it into place and hopes the subject and atmosphere changes as quickly as possible because he feels like an idiot and Christine is definitely about to cry.

"The only music Erik's dad has ever heard is from the seventies. It makes his ears bleed." Nadir says smoothly, as if things didn't just get super awkward.

"I try to make our car rides minimal for a reason."

"What gives him the right to keep the music on what _he_ wants? We're truly living in a patriarchal society even today." Nadir laments, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.

Christine gasps suddenly as a song comes on the radio, and she squeals a bit more. "I _love_ this song!" To which Erik and Nadir immediately groan. It's _Astonishing._ She's one of _those._ "Oh, please, it's a good song!" She defends, frowning. "Overplayed and overdone doesn't mean it's _bad._ And _Little Women_ is a cute show!"

"Should'a known by the fact that you love _Little Mermaid_ and Sierra Boggess that you'd be one of _those."_ Nadir sighs.

"Yes, ma'am. And proud of it."

It's silent for barely a moment before Erik starts belting, " _I THOUGHT OUR PROMISE MEANT THAT WE WOULD NEVER CHANGE AND-"_

"Oh, god." Groans Nadir, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "If you don't stop, Erik, I _will_ make you walk to your house."

"- _LIVE MY DREAMS OR EVEN START WHEN EVERYTHING HAS-"_

"Dude, you're a high-baritone, please stop this nonsense." Nadir begs, stifling laughs because that boy is really going for it.

" _I thought home… was all I'd ever want-"_ Christine butts in.

" _My ATTIC… all I'd ever need."_

Nadir's begging multiplies as it turns into a full blown duet, but starts to laugh hysterically- as does Christine- at Erik's attempt to hit an E5-which he does, in fact, hit. So very like him to reach notes twenty miles out of his range. They reach Erik's house after a ten minute ride that went on pretty much how the scene that was described to you did. Christine scans the strange boy's house. It's medium sized. Not small, but not a mansion. Not _Raoul's_ house. That place makes Christine nauseous. But Erik's is quaint, _but_ it's still on the bigger side. The three climb out of the car, lugging their backpacks with them to the front door. Erik's key barely hovers over the door before it swings open to reveal a skinny, blonde woman, evidently in her late forties-but not quite early fifties.

"Oh, _Rikki_ you're home from school!" She exclaims, enveloping Erik in a hug that he definitely doesn't want and calling him a nickname that he's definitely never been called before. "Hi, Nads, how are you, dear?" She _has_ called Nadir 'Nads,' before, though. She's never been able to pronounce his name. (Even though it's literally ten times easier than pronouncing her own last name, but that's just how she is.) Nadir doesn't even get to answer before she turns to Christine. "Who's this lovely lady?"

Christine's throat closes for a second. She seems to forget how to form words. Completely. Why is she so intimidated? The woman seems like she means well! "This is Christine. She just moved here and we're going to work on stuff for the play." At that, the woman finally lets the three teens in the house.

"Already? Weren't auditions yesterday?" She asks. Christine, now seeing her clearly, notices how glazed-over the woman's eyes appear, and despite appearing as if she hadn't left the house all day, is clad in formal-business type of attire.

"It's never too early." Erik says, tossing his backpack to the floor next to the stairs. He silently offers to take Christine's backpack, which she gives him with an awkward smile as he and his mother continue speaking. "We need the show to be perfection."

"Who was cast as who?" She asks, however she looks like she's lost complete interest in the conversation.

"The casting sucked. These new directors suck." Erik complains, stalking towards the kitchen. Nadir and Christine follow. "First, they cast me as _Prince Eric,_ who the fuck would do that? Then, they cast Christine as Aquata, when she so deserves Ariel! So, we've made a deal that Christine will run through the show once we've figured everything out and people will decide if they'd prefer her as Ariel or Carlotta. So, we're starting now to make everything perfect."

"I'm Scuttle." Nadir adds, contrasting collected-ness with Erik's excruciating tirade.

"Scuttle is so perfect for you, darling." She turns back to Christine while Erik takes out packages of oreos and chips. "So, where're you from, doll?"

From? Difficult question when you're a Daaé. "Oh, all over. My father was a musician."

 _Was._ It's still a fresh word to say. However, Christine notices that it's her first time not stuttering over it. She didn't go _is- was._ She said it. It rolled off her tongue as if she wanted it to. But there's no way she'd ever want to use that past tense linking verb regarding her father.

"How cool! What instrument?"

"Pretty much everything. He had a touring band, but he was considered a solo act, so he played any instrument he could lug onstage. He preferred violin, though." She tells the woman, eyeing the oreos Nadir is _inhaling_ and begging the universe for the conversation to end.

"Violin! That's Erik's favorite as well!"

Christine faces Erik, who's been watching the entire conversation very closely. Flinching, just as she had when she noticed Erik's seat belt unbuckled, she asks "You play the violin?"

"And the piano. But that's not really important. Do you want an oreo?" He offers, giving his mother a dirty look, which the woman actually catches and excuses herself.

Christine takes a seat next to Erik on the island, reaching for the blue package and taking one oreo, pulling it apart and eating it very slowly. She despises eating in front of other people. Erik opens his mouth to say something, but his mother begins calling for him. "I'll be right back."

Nadir and Christine watch him as he leaves, and once he's out of earshot, Christine hesitates. "She's…"

"Not the worst mother in the world." He finishes. "She means well, but she can be pretty wacked at times. She can't help it, though. Plus, she buys me snacks." Christine nods. She gets it. Erik seems pretty normal anyway, so she must have done something right. "So, your dad…" Oh, god. "Was he Gus D?"

Gus D, a known touring musician who was tragically diagnosed with cancer two years ago and fell off the face of the earth. Gustave Daaé. "How'd you figure that out?"

"You just… seem like him. I saw him in concert with my uncle in eighth grade. He was phenomenal."

"He always told me I was an exact replica of my mother."

"She died in a car crash, didn't she?" Nadir asks. His voice is so even and he seems so calm that Christine has a sudden urge to punch him in the face for it.

"How-"

"The seat belt thing. You were in the car, weren't you?"

"Yeah, but-"

"So you feel pain. You know what it's like." It's not even a question, but Christine nods. "Erik feels a lot of that, too. If you're going to be his friend, that's the first thing you need to know. He's hurting more often than he appears, and there isn't much you can do about it. And even though his face plays a role in that, most of the issue stems from what goes on inside that giant head of his. It's like a thousand emotions swimming around in there and in order to express one fully he has to fish for a long time before he catches it."

Christine doesn't really know what to say. Or why he's telling her this so randomly, but she doesn't need to reply because Erik returns. He looks pretty annoyed, or maybe just uncomfortable-It's hard to tell. Whatever he is, he seems to be attempting to hide it. But Christine is confused. Something looks different. She really cannot figure it out. It's like he went upstairs and someone else came back down and Christine cannot stop _staring-stop staring you creep!_

"My mom makes me wear makeup when I'm not at school." Erik explains. That's what it was. He looks… normal. Christine immediately hates it. His face is caked with concealer, but if it hadn't been pointed it, Christine would have no idea. But it's so not him. "I'd wear it at school if I could, but the handbook says no makeup for guys."

Christine's mouth goes dry. She has this thing-it's stupid, but she has this thing where she's only comfortable around certain people and gets far too anxious around people she doesn't know well. And Erik does not look like Erik. "You look-"

"Normal?" Erik tries, and although she thought it before, she realized that it's quite the opposite. _Normal_ is the face he was born with.

"You look so _not you."_ At that, his eyes seem to flicker. For a moment, Christine thinks she said the wrong thing, but he suddenly smiles-involuntarily. His lips just curl and though most of his face is packed down with makeup, crimson dusts across his pale cheeks.

"It's kind of like there's two different versions of me. Same personality, but totally different auras." No one knows how to reply to that, so he quickly adds, "Homework time?" to which Christine and Nadir agree, trailing behind Erik and making their way towards the staircase. They climb the seemingly lengthy (but actually quite small) steps to the second floor of the house. The second floor looks like one small hallway with four doors scattered along the walls. Two doors are open, showing a small office and a guest bathroom. Erik leads the way to the end of the hallway, opening the door to reveal a blue-walled bedroom. Christine thought she was the only teenager still standing with a twin bed, but lo and behold, Erik, with a comforter matching his walls, has one right up against the middle wall. She wonders how he could sleep without the wall to his back. On the wall adjacent to the one with the bed is a nice, wooden desk that's so completely cluttered it would just _have_ to be Erik's. The wall opposite that holds a full length keyboard and a violin case. Decorating the walls are various playbills, as well as posters for movies Christine has never heard of. Finally, sitting atop Erik's bed, poses a really adorable cat that makes Christine freeze in her spot. Her heart pounds but she stays completely silent. No, she's not afraid of cats, just- Oh no. Psychosomatic or not, Christine's neck and arms immediately become unbearably itchy. _Already?_ She didn't even have a chance to politely tell anyone. Whatever, it's too late now.

As they get through an hour's worth of homework, she scratches at her arms and neck (and almost everywhere) as discreetly as possible. How hard is it to just say 'Dude, your cat is gonna make my throat close,' when it takes literally two seconds? Stupid Christine and her stupid anxiety and stupid fear of bothering other people or bringing attention to herself. She didn't totally begin to feel like she was dying until the third song they decided to practice with. Christine couldn't even tell you the name of it because the room suddenly felt like it was seven hundred thousand nine hundred and twenty eight degrees in the room. Breathing was no longer an option and she felt like she was floating away to some other planet. She started coughing- _wheezing_ actually. She sounded like the epitome of death and dying. Erik hadn't really been looking at Christine before she started coughing. He was playing the piano and Nadir was staring emotionless at his computer unmovingly. Finally, Erik spins around to see Christine _literally dying,_ covered in red hives all over her neck, cheeks, and probably arms, considering she hadn't stopped scratching the area under her stiff maroon school sweater since she got to his room.

"Are you okay?" He asks, standing up from the bench of the keyboard and walking over to the pale girl.

"I'm- F-f- _fine."_ She spits out between wheezes. "I just… do you have any Benadryl?"

"What's happening- A-are you sick? What-"

"I'm getting the Benadryl." Nadir says, far more calm than his counterpart. "Take her to the bathroom and away from Ayesha." He shuffles out of the room and quickly trots downstairs to the medicine cabinet.

"You're allergic to cats?" Erik asks, but Christine is too busy holding her throat and attempting to force her knees not to buckle. She abruptly clutches onto Erik's black hoodie, ultimately failing her attempt. Erik catches her by the upper arms and half-drags her to the bathroom, where she folds down onto the memory foam mat in front of the sink. She leans against the side of the bathtub, looking deathly pale. "Why didn't you just tell me? You could've, like, _died."_

"M' fine- throat's just- closing. Room's- spinning. M' s-s-s-so s-s-s-sorry."

Nadir returns with a glass of water and pack of benadryl, kneeling down to the brunette and helping her take the medicine. When she manages to get the small capsule down, Nadir steps back to give her some space. So does Erik-once he hesitantly shoves her dark curls out of her face.

"Benadryl takes up to thirty minutes to fully kick in." Christine tells the startled boys, although she already stopped coughing and wheezing.

"Do you want your sweater off, you-"

" _No!_ No- No, I'm good. It's good. God, I'm so embarrassing." She hides her face in her arms, supported by the ledge of the tub.

"We probably should've asked you how your relationships with cats was." Nadir points out, deciding to sit down next to her on the ground. Erik once again does as Nadir, but on the other side of Christine. The three sit like that-kind of like how they were sitting in Spanish class-for quite some time, waiting for Christine to feel well enough to be brought home.

Christine truly felt like she had an actual group of friends for the first time then. And nothing made her laugh harder than Erik's mother walking in, immediately concerned and puzzled at such a sight, and asking "What on _earth_ did you boys do to her?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: pretty short chapter, I apologize (but there is much more to come). sorry i've been dead. lots of stuff has been a-happening but i think i regained some motivation for this story. enjoy! (also totally not proofread)**

Christine sat in the back seat of Nadir's car with her cheek pressed against the cool window. It was five o'clock-ish and the sun was already beginning to set. It was only the middle of September, so the sun wouldn't be fully set for a while, but the orangey haze that loomed over the town was enough to make Christine's drained self feel even more exhausted. She couldn't believe herself. How could she embarrass herself so much in one day? And yeah, she did feel like she was becoming good friends with the boys, but she's only known them for a few days and she's way too quick to trust.

Wait. Oh no. Oh no. Let's fling ourselves into present tense, shall we? Because Christine just remembered something and she's springing up from her slumped over position despite the stars that dance around her vision because of it. "Crap. Darn it. _Crap."_ She. . . that's definitely not cursing but, she curses, smacking her palms over her face.

"What?" Erik asks from beside her. Yeah, he sat in the backseat to make sure if she, like, died, he'd be able to do something. Cute, amirite?

"The football game! We completely forgot. Oh, god. Is there any chance you could drop me off at the stadium? No, wait, that's such a bother. Maybe I can walk, or—"

"Christine, you're in no shape to be standing on those bleachers and cheering on Rat- I mean, _Raoul."_ Nadir says from the driver's seat, shaking his hand.

"I'll just have to endure it. I can't risk—"

"Oh, god. You're obsessed, aren't you?" Erik asks, his voice struggling to remain smooth and _so_ not obviously jealous.

"Obsessed?"

"Oh, honey, not _him."_ Nadir wails with disapproval.

Christine's eyebrows furrow until she realizes what they mean. She's almost certain something's caught on fire right in front of her face because she is _sweating._ "Ew, wait. Oh my god, ew. Ew. _Ew._ Oh my god! I don't- You guys, it's not-"

"Deny it all you want, but you're totally in love with him, aren't you?" Nadir pushes, and now Christine's heart is racing and her mouth is dry because she isn't like that at all and she doesn't know how to communicate that and she's seconds from lying and saying he's her cousin or something.

"I don't- I'm not like that- _It's_ not- Listen, he's not- I've just known him since we were little. My aunt's a housekeeper and I used to stay with her when my dad was on big tours and I'd go to work with her and she'd clean the De Chagny house so we became friends. I don't l-like him, I just can't risk losing his friendship and he gets a little. . . weird when I don't do what he wants me to do- which sounds way worse than it is! But it's not like that, it's just—" Christine stops talking when Erik grabs her hand to get her attention. She turns to him, and she tries not to let her overly-germaphobic-ness shine through.

"Dear god, please stop rambling. You're not making this any better for yourself." He's only teasing and his response is completely lighthearted, but Christine's heart is _pounding_ in her ears. She feels more nauseous than she did when she was about to pass out.

"I've known him from the time his parents made him wear short shorts, knee highs, polos, and sweater vests on the daily." Christine explains, her voice much lower and far more serious sounding than she actually is. "I can assure you that giving into his playboy-esque attitudes would be the last thing I do. Honestly, who do you think I am? A teenage girl?"

Erik releases her hand and she rejoices. He chuckles a bit while Nadir cackles from the front seat. "Christine Daaé, you are officially Erik's and my new best friend forever and ever." Nadir announces. "But you have to know one extremely important aspect of our entire friendship that will greatly affect your entire life and well-being."

"What is it?"

There's a beat of silence before Nadir slowly and dramatically explains that "There is no one-and I mean _no one-_ on this planet- in this _universe_ \- who Erik and I despise more than Raoul De Chagny."

Erik gasps theatrically. "You actually said his full name!"

"I'm aware and trying not to vomit as we speak"

"How come you guys hate him so much?" Christine asks, but she isn't all that surprised. Raoul's always gotten on her nerves, but she always looked past it by considering his privileged upbringing. It's not like she saw him often before anyway. But now that they go to the same school, she can see what kind of person he can be, just by seeing his friend group.

"What is there not to hate?" Nadir asks.

"Popular, athletic, rich, jawline that could slit my wrists, smirk that could extinguish every brain cell in a girl's head, the list goes on and on and on." Erik enumerates with a grimace.

"His friends look like bicycle seats." Christine mutters, thinking about the group of boys that all the girls in her classes gush over so disgustingly and stereotypically. Christine has no clue what's considered hot or not, but she does not find them attractive in the slightest. They make her nauseous.

"Did you just say _bicycle seats?!"_ Nadir asks, way more shocked than you'd assume he'd be.

"Yeah, why-"

"That's exactly how I described them last week." Erik explains. "Nadir said their faces were shaped like bell peppers, but great minds think alike; therefore, Nadir's a dumbass and we're geniuses." Christine smiles and high-fives Erik as Nadir grumbles in the driver's seat, turning the radio up louder and whimpering loudly. "You're sad because we're right!" Erik yells over the blaring showtunes.

They pull onto the street of Christine's aunt's house (well, her house now, too), and Christine sighs. Raoul might kill her on Monday, but she'll just have to deal with it.

"Thanks for everything today, guys." Christine says as she unbuckles. "I'm sorry for not telling you I was allergic to cats. I can be kind of an idiot, sometimes. Tell Ayesha that I think she's beautiful, but my body does not." She opens the car door with a click, turning back to the two boys. "I'll see you guys Monday."

"Bye Christmastine." Nadir says, waving from the front of the car.

"Let us know if Raoul does anything idiotic because of you skipping the game. We'll beat his ass." Erik assures her as he unbuckles and ungracefully climbs into the front seat.

"Theatre-kid style. Might not be effective, but we'll take any form of revenge we can get." Nadir elaborates.

Christine laughs, saying one last 'goodbye' before swinging the car door shut and walking to the small house's front door. Erik watched closely as the breeze lightly whips at her curls, forcing her to tug them out of her face while she waits for her aunt to open the door. Once the door opens, Nadir pulls out and begins to drive off. "Erik, my darling," Nadir addresses, amused. "You are so fucked."

On Monday, Christine's mouth was dry from the moment she woke up. Naturally, she was dehydrated (I mean, whose mouth isn't dry when they first wake up?), but we meant it much more figuratively in the sense that she was positive Raoul was going to tear her guts out in the creepy back alley near the school where all the exchange students go to smoke. Now, she's shoving her books in her locker and sweating in spite of the goosebumps encompassing her arms and legs. Honestly, the school sweaters do nothing when it comes to providing actual warmth within the centuries old building. The fact that that wasn't even an exaggeration about the building's age is honestly unnerving (the brick oven building (that was an igloo in the winter) was _literally_ a century old and ready to crumble on all three hundred-ish students and like twenty teachers that gathered inside it) (and although it was a solid eighty degrees in the middle of September, the mornings were abnormally chilly). Anyway, she tugs out her religion notebook just before her locker slams shut, causing Christine to squeak and leap backwards. She curses to herself, knowing she won't be able to get the stupid apparatus open again on her own.

"You totally ghosted me on Friday." Raoul pouts, leaning against the lockers and staring down at her in a weirdly menacing way. Christine, instead of freaking out, spends more time in her thoughts realizing that if she hadn't been friends with Meg, she would have no clue what 'ghosting' was. She was really out of touch with teenage reality last year.

"I know. I'm so sorry. I was going to try and message you but I didn't feel well and everything just sort of slipped my mind." Almost entirely true, so points for Chrissy D.

"You didn't feel well?" Raoul interrogates, and Christine's positive this has to count as a literal interrogation. There might as well be a spotlight right on her, because every female that walks by gives her very intense death glares.

"Yeah, I had an allergic reaction. My fault, really. It could've been avoided, but-"

"Listen, Chris, you have to understand the situation I'm in here." Raoul interrupts, shifting his cool-guy position and getting closer to her so he could speak more quietly. "You know how many girls in this city _alone_ would kill to be you? And you're not exactly the type of girl I'd normally be seen with. You need to at least _try_ to be like that girl, though."

Wow. Okay, then. Christine tries not to get offended, but that was pretty un-Raoul like and it angers her. He was never really like this until he became a teenager, and Christine blames the friends he made. "It's not like I'm your girlfriend or anything. Even if I ever was or _wanted_ to be, I'm not obligated to follow you around at all times. If you don't want to be seen with me here, I get it. We can hang out elsewhere. I don't really have the time right now to become someone I'm not just so I could still be your friend." The _BRAVERY_ Christine just acquired! Truly admirable, I mean, did you see that? Bra to the vo, sis.

"Fine, if that's how you want it." Raoul grumbles, clearly annoyed. "Where were you that you'd have an allergic reaction, anyway?" He asks, thoroughly confused. Because as far as he knows, Christine doesn't know anyone that owns a cat.

"Oh, I was just working on some play stuff with a couple of play kids." She tells him, and he winces.

"Oh, _god,_ Chris, don't tell me you were hanging out with Erik Derveaux and Nadir Khan!" He begs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What's wrong with them? They're funny."

"Those are the _last_ people on this earth that you would want to be seen with." He explains, as if it mattered.

"Raoul, it's one year of high school that I have to get through. Popularity has always been the least of my worries. Aren't you worried about, like, college and stuff?" She asks sincerely, feeling pretty uncomfortable as one particular glare from a girl lingers far longer than she could handle.

"I've had scouts at almost every game this season. I'm all set."

"Oh, well, that's pretty good. What have they been-"

"Oh, there's Jason." Raoul cuts off, already walking away. "I'll catch you later."

Christine watches him as he catches up with one of his bicycle seat-faced friends, a disappointed expression settling on her features. Old Raoul was never this much of a jerk, that's for sure. He wasn't even that bad over the summer. She turns to her now-closed locker, sighing as she attempts to remember her combination.

"Need my help?" A figure, suddenly beside her without making a sound, asks.

Christine squeaks and jumps at this guy, too. "Jeez Louise, man." She complains, holding her chest. It's just Erik. "Second time that's happened today."

"Yeah, I noticed. Rat Wheel had his chat with you, huh?" Erik asks, already twisting the startled girl's combination in.

"Yup. I survived it, though, so there's nothing to worry about now." She explains, legitimately wiping the sweat from her forehead.

"Good. We need you alive and well to play Ariel." Erik teases, smirking as he swings the locker door open.

"I'm glad I have some purpose in this life." She comments, grabbing another notebook and shutting the bottom half of the locker only. "So it _was_ you who opened my locker on the first day, wasn't it?"

"Yup." He admits, smirking. "You were really struggling. Have you never had a locker before?" He asks leaning against the lockers in a much less 'cool-guy' way compared to how Raoul was leaning earlier.

"Yeah, I'm just genuinely blind. The white ticks just kind of blur together at this point. Thanks, though." She says, poking his shoulder and smiling.

"It's no problem. I'm the locker-opener extraordinaire." He says a little too proudly before realizing how incredibly dumb that sounded coming from him.

"Wow, that. . . That was lame." Christine tells him with a hint of pity, beginning to walk in the direction of their first period classroom and signalling him to following.

"Yeah, it was." He admits. "We have no rehearsal Friday, so do you want to work on your Ariel then?"

"Sure, sounds good." Christine says, wondering if it's going to become a weekly thing. She wouldn't mind that. Erik was actually pretty cool, and he and Nadir are probably the most capable of breaking her out of her shell. Skinny Erik and his black hoodie and bad posture. Playing his love interest wouldn't be the most horrendous thing in the world. The thought of him willingly helping her just because makes her beam. No one would ever just do that for her. She finally found some real friends.

Or so she fucking thought. Erik didn't think it'd be eating him alive, but it was just a teensy, tiny little bit. Like, not that much because he was determined that Christine wouldn't find out that he was totally using her as a way to get community service hours, and because he knew that even if she did manage to find out, she was too sweet and understanding to actually take offense. Plus, he didn't mind hanging out with her and would probably help her work on her Ariel either way. But he tried to imagine how he'd feel if Nadir was getting service hours just for hanging out with him, and it did kind of fill him with a tiny sense of hurt. But then when he really thought about it, Nadir was basically doing that anyway. Erik's mom basically _paid_ Nadir to, essentially, mother Erik. Everyone always has that mom friend, but imagine the mom friend being your only motherly mother. Whatever. Erik wasn't gonna think too much about it all (lie). He was going to focus on making Christine the most perfect Ariel there ever was and he (and everyone else) was going to _like it._ Fur-Man and On-dray were not going to ruin his last high school production, and if it meant taking them the fuck down, then so be it. Scrawny little (giant) Erik was not afraid to start a not-so scrawny little war, especially when he had his greatest weapon taking form in a tiny, curly haired soprano.


End file.
